


Optical Illusion

by DixieDale



Series: The Enchanted Forest [5]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The stories Karl Langenscheidt told of the enchanted forest - some were sad, some happy, some absolutely magical.  How could a place be so many things to so many people?  Was it all an optical illusion?  You could ask some of the men of Barracks 2.  You could ask Hogan, you could ask Kinch - after all, they'd used just that term when making their report after their last mission.





	Optical Illusion

He cursed silently as he ran, trying to keep to the shadows. There was a good reason why he didn't usually leave camp, and this was a darned good example! It wasn't like he could just blend into the population, after all, like the other guys at least had some chance of doing. Still, with that bad case of flu hitting so many back at camp, the Command Team was at low ebb as far as available bodies was concerned. It wasn't even a case of 'the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak'; with the guys in Barracks 2, the flesh was a shivering, feverish mass, not able to do much but lay there and moan. The only two able bodies out of the whole crew were Colonel Robert Hogan and Sergeant Kinchloe, so when that little matter of 'top urgency - must be done whatever the cost' job came in over the transmitter, they were the ones who headed out. Well, they'd headed out all right, together, mission firmly in mind. They'd exited the tunnel, Kinch first, Hogan following, latching it securely behind them. So far, so good. Looking back, Kinch could honestly say that was about the last time he could have said that with any degree of confidence!

Hogan crouched in the underbrush, checking the small map he'd pulled from his pocket, using the flashlight that had been covered in oilcloth, only a tiny pinprick in the center allowing an even tinier beam of light to show through.

"We'll head this way, along the forest paths, right across that north corner; cut some time off the trip, anyway. That should put us near the crossroads. Shame we couldn't get hold of a car, but with the motor pool being used as an auxilliary quarantine spot, there's just no way. We'll make a try for a vehicle of some sort at Meyerhoff's place; there's so much traffic around there, we should be able to hot-wire something."

Kinch gave an uneasy look over at his commanding officer, having followed that moving finger across the map. He'd noted their proposed route took them close to where LeBeau had said that pond was, that pond that held more secrets than anybody would ever know. He shuddered even now, remembering that story.

Somehow he didn't think Hogan would be any too happy with being reminded of all the stories Langenscheidt had told about the forest, and the crew had never told him about the story LeBeau had come back with. {"So much for my saying I was going to avoid this place,"} he told himself resignedly. This was hardly the time to discuss the matter objectively, though, so he tugged his hat back into place and followed Hogan into the forest.

{"It's amazing in here! I can't believe no one ever said anything about how beautiful it is, even at night! There's a phosphorescence to the leaves and the moss that just makes things sparkle and shine. And it's so warm and the air smells so sweet. I don't remember it being this way; of course, I've only been here a couple of times. Maybe I've just never been here at the right time of the year."}. He pulled his jacket open a little more, then the collar of his shirt, to feel the night breeze on his skin, smiling at the sensation.

{"Hell, what's he doing? Don't tell me HE'S coming down with it too!! He'll catch pneumonia doing that, as cold as it is in here! Can't believe how much the temperature's dropped since we left camp. Or maybe it's all the trees, maybe they affect how much the cold settles in the shadows. Damn ugly place, too, the sap dripping down those tree trunks looks like green slime, and that moss I brushed up against? Felt like a dozen spiders crawling over my skin! I can see how Langenscheidt comes up with those creepy stories, but how he can get the others, the fanciful ones from a place like this, I don't know. Well, I guess that's why he's the storyteller."}

Kinch watched, concerned, as Hogan shivered and tugged his jacket collar closer. {"Damn, I hope he's not coming down with it too! Must be, though; how could he be cold? Must be twenty degrees warmer under these trees than it was when we left camp! Maybe it IS the trees, maybe they act as some kind of solar collector or something."

They made it to the crossroads, though Hogan was more than a little chagrined to find the short-cut hadn't saved nearly the amount of time he'd estimated. They'd really be pushed to get the job done and be back at camp before morning roll call. Well, at least they'd been able to steal a truck at Meyerhoff's; the place looked dark, so hopefully whoever owned it wouldn't miss it til morning - they didn't need the authorities stopping them asking questions.

Things seemed to straighten out after they got on the road. The target was a fairly easy one, an ammo dump that was purely begging to be be blown, and luckily Carter had just finished a nice little stockpile of explosives before he'd caught the flu. Hogan took one side, Kinch the other, setting the timers, and then they'd snuck back to the truck and were on their way when the explosion lit up the night sky.

"Too bad Carter wasn't able to make the trip; he'd have loved to have seen that," Kinch grinned, looking out the rear window at the sight. He didn't get an answer, and he glanced over at Hogan to see a worried frown on the man's face. "What's wrong, Colonel?"

"I don't know, the truck feels funny, it's not responding," and with that, the vehicle gave an odd little moan and the engine died. 

They sat there for a disbelieving minute, staring at each other. 

"How far are we from camp?" Kinch asked uneasily.

"Too far, at least by the road. We're within a couple of miles of the crossroads, though; if we can get that far, we can duck back into the forest."

It was more dangerous on foot; they'd already passed a couple of foot patrols, though luckily no one had waved the truck down, and Kinch had made sure to keep his hat low, his collar high and leaned as far into the shadows as he could. 

Unwilling, but without much choice, they got out, pushed the truck off the side of the road into the shadows, hoping it wouldn't be spotted til daylight, and headed off. It was just bad luck that the next roving patrol spotted them doing that, and with a shout, they found themselves running for their lives. 

As they dove down an embankment, Hogan gasped, "we have a better chance splitting up, and they can NOT spot you, Kinch! I'll try to draw them in the other direction, you head for the crossroads, get back to camp. I'll head in a little farther north and circle around."

Hogan was deliberately making enough noise for two men, and those following didn't seem to immediately recognize the trail had divided. When they did, the patrol also split up, half following the very noisy Hogan, half headed back to pick up the other man's trail. When he felt he'd gone far enough, Hogan slipped back into stealth mode and doubled-back.

He'd seen another path that exited the forest not far from the one they'd come off of, and he headed for that. With any luck, he too could get back to camp by roll call. With the team flat on their backs, there wasn't anyone to cover for him if he didn't. He could only hope Kinch made it alright, though he'd done everything he could to give his radio man the opportunity. If he didn't, well, there just weren't that many black prisoners in the area; one look and Hochstetter would be at the camp gates demanding a roll call no matter the hour.

Separate Paths: - Kinch  
He wasn't even breathing hard by the time he got back to the crossroads; he made it a point to try to get whatever exercise he could, tried to keep his stamina and condition up, and that easy jog hadn't strained him much. After all, he couldn't go at a dead out run, not at night, not with the patrols out. Still, he was more than a little relieved to find himself on the path they'd taken before; if nothing else, it should be a heck of a lot warmer in the forest than out here, where the temperature had dropped dramatically.

He cast an uneasy look behind him, hoping Hogan had been able to elude his followers. With the rest of the team out for the count, managing a rescue operation would be a real issue. Well, there wasn't anything he could do about that now. His job was to get back to camp, and quickly. If the patrol spotted a black man, the show was pretty much over.

The moon provided enough light for him to follow the path without stumbling, and the reflection from the pond drew him on. Even knowing some of its secrets didn't detract from its eerie beauty, that black shimmering liquid crystal, like a multi-faceted gemstone in a muted setting. He'd drawn near, thinking to pass along its southern edge when he heard the shouts and knew he'd been spotted. He didn't have time to get to the edge, he just hoped it was deep enough for what he intended. He threw himself into the water and dove underwater, started swimming, long even strokes. He was a strong swimmer, but even so, it seemed like the water was supporting him, even propelling him along at greater speed than he could have managed on his own. 

On the other side, he sprang to his feet and ran for the far hillside, but a bullet carved up a gouge in the grass at his feet. When the next one struck the tree in front of him, he stumbled to a halt, and slowly started to turn in response to the shouted order. Halfway around, a huge roll of thunder broke the silence and a vast bolt of lightning lit up the sky.

{"Wonderful, if they didn't get a good look at me before, that's sure gonna let them! Not that it matters much if they march me into Gestapo Headquarters, I guess."}

His mind had only seconds to note the weird effect of that blast of both noise and light. The four men chasing him dropped their rifles and cried out, covering their eyes with their hands. He was shaken to realise he was seeing them in reverse image - their black uniforms now a chalky white, their skins darker even than his own, against a sky the color of that lightning strike, all silvery white with green tinges.

He didn't bother trying to figure out the science of that optical illusion, just took advantage of their momentary blindness and took off down the path, dodging this way and that into the trees, but somehow, around every turn, he was on the path again. 

Feeling like more than a bit of a fool, he addressed whoever, whatever, the path, the forest, anything and anyone who might be listening. His voice was coming in ragged gasps, but he could still hear himself, "Thank you! And, please, let me get back to camp, and before roll call! Please, don't let them catch me!" Only silence answered him, {"well, what were you expecting, Kinchloe!"}, but somehow the silence felt different than before, more as if the silence itself had a presence, an identity of its own.

One final bend in the path, and there it was, the dead tree trunk. He staggered forward, undid the latch, and half-fell down the ladder to collapse at the base on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. 

"Kinch, what . . .? But you are soaking wet! And where is Colonel Hogan??"

He got to his feet to see a much-improved Louie LeBeau standing there looking at him as if he'd seen a ghost.

{"Well, he's not far wrong,"} came as an amazingly calm thought. Kinch was pretty sure he was in some sort of a state of shock, perhaps aided and abetted by that lightning strike.

The others were better too, awake if still in their bunks, sipping on the soup LeBeau had managed to cobble together. Kinch took his own portion gratefully, the warmth from the enclosed atmosphere of the forest having dissipated rapidly once he'd reached the perimeter. They let him catch his breath, drink his soup, and then he related his story, finishing with, "and I can only hope the Colonel was able to dodge them. He was taking the farther path, but hopefully he'd get here before roll call. If not, we're going to have to do some real fast talking."

And, reluctantly, he told them that the patrol had gotten a real good look at him. "If they show up here, I don't see anyway around them identifying me, guys." That left them all in a decidedly grim mood, and reviewing the emergency plans set in place. Still, LeBeau took a moment to be grateful he had thought to tell his friends about his experience; it seemed it HAD proved helpful to Kinch. Now they had the Colonel to worry over, and the soldiers, but still . . .

 

Separate Paths: Hogan -

He'd waited til Kinch was in position to make a run for it, then Hogan snapped a branch, catching the attention of the patrol. Leaping to his feet, dodging here and there, making as much noise as possible, he led them on a merry chase. However, when he stopped to rest, leaning against a tree and taking a quick look backwards, he could see that only four men were still in pursuit.

{"Either they've split up, the others trying to cut me off, or they got wise and the others are chasing Kinch."}. Either way, there wasn't a lot he could do about it, other than trying his best to get away, circle back and head into the forest, hopefully making it back to camp before roll call. While he wasn't looking forward to another jaunt through the oppressive atmosphere of the forest, it sure beat facing an armed German patrol, so he kept going.

One final turn and he was on the path, hopefully the alternate one he'd noted on the map. As he entered the forest, the sounds from those pursuing him grew fainter, and his hope of eluding them completely grew stronger. Another turn, and he was in an area where the trees seemed to be draped with some kind of trailing vegetation. If this had been Louisiana, he would have thought it some type of Spanish moss, but he thought the climate much too cold for that here. And cold it was; he could see his breath in the night air, and even pulling his jacket collar up tight around his neck didn't keep the cold threads from trickling down the back of his neck. It didn't help that those dangling fronds kept slapping him in the face, leaving wet sticky traces where they'd met bare skin.

Another straight stretch, and then he dodged suddenly, startled by the sudden snarl from his right. A quick look and the shine of malevolent yellow eyes made his heart, already pounding, beat faster. Luckily whatever had made that hair-raising noise didn't seem inclined to pursue him, and he continued on his way. 

Then, off to the right, there was that dark pond that kept showing up in Langenscheidt's stupid stories. Well, even Hogan had to admit it was an eeire sight in the moonlight, dull black surface seeming to swallow the moonlight that was highlighting everything around it.

{"Yeah, anyone coming on the sight on a night like this, they'd be likely to think they saw just about anything! Monsters, aliens, whatever!"}.

The flicker of a shadow, no, maybe more than one shadow on the far side did nothing to alleviate his apprehension. Shadows just shouldn't have shapes like that, it wasn't natural.

He started to circle wide around the menacing pool, but tightened his lips in defiance. No damned hole in the ground was gonna scare him, even if it WAS full of water! And had odd air bubbles rising to the surface in a couple of places! He marched closer, though his steps got slower as he got closer. Slithery noises in the grass on the sides of the path had his nerves stretched to their ultimate, or so he thought. Then he was right beside the pool, and moonlight slowly illuminated the surface and he found himself staring down into the mirrored surface. Visions formed, figures showing, merging, separating again, never ceasing. {"Optical illusions; no wonder this place has such a reputation! Maybe it's like with the castle, some underground gas formation."}

Suddenly his courage broke, and with a breathless cry turned and ran, and the moonlight dimmed over the pool of water, turning it again to a dull surface absorbing but not reflecting all available light. There was silence as Hogan fled, a cold watching silence. It was only after he was well gone that the pool regained its luminous glow, the moon reflected in its gleaming surface.

He'd reached the path again, and muttered in a strained voice, "this damned well better be the right path! There'll be hell to pay if I don't get back in time for roll call! Shit! Goddamned 'enchanted forest' my ass!" It was surely a coincidence that the sole of his boot landed on something slippery just then, and that he ended falling on the portion of his anatomy he'd just referenced.

He trudged along, long since having lost all feeling of his being followed, and truly he hadn't been. At the first gunshot from the group chasing Kinch, (a gunshot Hogan hadn't heard, any more than he heard the one following it), the ones following Hogan had turned and ran to join their compatriots, the whole lot stumbling back to the road, knowing they needed to get back to Headquarters and report.

Hogan moved on through the night; somehow that damned path seemed to circle around in one direction and then in another, but there was never a connecting path, or one damned thing that looked in the least familiar.

 

Back at Camp:  
Roll call came and went with no Colonel Hogan; at least it had been taken inside, barracks by barracks, due to the illness among the guards and the prisoners. The guys had managed to convince Schultz that Hogan was coming down with a case of the flu that had been making its way through camp, and while he might not have believed their story, he DID believe the enticing aroma of that soup LeBeau was dishing up.

"You have a choice, Schultz, you may have a cup of my oh-so-wonderful soup, or you may go disturb le colonel. I assure you, if you DO wake him, he will be in no mood for pleasantries, and will forbid me from giving you any soup. Now, which is it to be?" 

Schultz was surprised to see the little Cockroach was quite firm about his stance, standing there in front of Hogan's door with his arms crossed over his chest defiantly.

Newkirk had crossed over to the stove, stirring the pot, lifting the ladle and letting the soup fall back into the pan, releasing even more of the tempting smell.

"Ei, now Schultzie, take a whiff of this soup. Don't that smell just bloody wonderful? You gonna pass on 'aving a nice cup a that just to go 'ave an officer yell at you? Especially an officer w'at's taking down with that nasty bug that 'e just might pass along to you? Come on now, come 'ave your soup, then go report to the Kommandant that we're all 'ere like good little boys, whatta ya say?"

Schultz took another whiff of the fragrant soup, then shrugged his shoulders and nodded, "I have already been yelled at by ONE officer who is becoming ill; I see no reason to try for two. Yes, I will have the soup, Cockroach, and danke."

After Schultz had departed, the men gathered around the long table. 

"Guys, what are we going to do if Colonel Hogan doesn't make it back by tonight? I don't think that trick with the soup is gonna work twice in a row," Carter worried.

"Yeah, especially since he said they were rotating who was inspecting the different barracks. There's some willing to turn a blind eye to some of the things we get up to, but even for them, overlooking a missing colonel is a stretch. And if it's one of the others, the show's over!" Kinch worried right back again.

"I'll 'ead out, see if I can catch a glimpse," Newkirk stated, only to get a firm denial from everyone there.

"Pierre, not only is it daylight, but you are stumbling when you take more than a half-dozen steps together. You would not even make it to the end of the tunnel." Even a stubborn man like Newkirk couldn't really deny the truth of that statement. Oh, well, yes, he COULD deny it, and did so in a variety of ways, but that denial didn't make it any less true. And Carter wasn't in any better shape, if anything slightly worse. All they really could do for right now was to wait.

 

Pathways: Hogan -

Daylight came with him no more able to find which way was the way back to the camp than he'd been in the darkness. He spent the day trudging along that path, dodging back into the shadows when he thought he heard something, dashing back to the path when a sudden growl or hiss from the brush told him he'd disturbed something that didn't much appreciate it. It was late afternoon before he turned a corner that he would have sworn he'd passed a dozen times before, and there, right in front of him, was that dead tree trunk with its ever so welcome latch and waiting ladder. When he got to the bottom, he stood for a good long time, head pressed against the tunnel support, then shuddered and made his way to the clothes room to change and head topside.

A quiet tap, just to be sure it was clear to go aloft, then the bunk arose and Hogan was surrounded by his eagerly welcoming men. They told him about Schultz and the con with the soup, so he knew he needed to play sick, at least slightly, and truthfully that wasn't so far from the truth. He was exhausted, hadn't eaten since he'd left camp, and had had no sleep during that time either. Never mind the working over his nerves had taken, between the job, the patrol and that damned forest!

He related his story, highly edited, of course, finishing with a strong, "I'm half a mind to call a bombing raid on that place. It's hazardous to our getting the job done!" 

Carter had hastened to remind him, "well, but that's the best cover for getting in and out of camp, Colonel! And we get loads of food from there too, nuts and mushrooms and pine kernals and loads more!"

LeBeau nodded frantically, "oui, mon colonel! How am I to prepare boiled potatoes with champignon if you cause them to blow up all the champignon??"

Olsen had stepped in with, "that would really put a stymie on my job on the outside, sir. That gives me the cover to move pretty freely, you know."

It had been Kinch who'd quickly reminded him, "and with all the tunnels we have around here, a blast over there could collapse the whole system. Gestapo comes rolling up to the gates, they're likely to just find one big hole in the ground and us at the bottom!"

"Not to mention, gov, just 'ow well do you trust the aim of those blokes? They're off even by a 'air, ain't gonna matter much to us, we'll 'ave gone up right along with all the bloody trees," Newkirk added.

Kinch stood up, "you're just tired, colonel. How about you crawl in the sack and try to get some rest? We'll keep things as quiet as we can and tell whoever comes in for roll call that you are sleeping. Maybe we can keep them out, but if not, maybe they'll just take a fast look. A good night's sleep with do you wonders."

Well, that sounded damned good, and Hogan did just that. It was Corporal Langenscheidt who came in to take roll call, and while he did insist on at least peeking in at Hogan, the officer's face was quite visible in the light from the door (although he didn't stir, and his snores did not pause). 

"Ya, very well, you are all here? I will check, just so Kommandant Klink will stop sniffling in my face and demanding that I double-check every bunk," Langenscheidt had said with a weary sigh. "So, back to your own bunk and I will check and then I can get back to my duties and you can continue with yours. If you are good and cause me no grief, maybe I will come back later and tell you a story, ya?"

"Yeah, alright," someone said cheerfully, and the weary young man went from bunk to bunk, checking faces against names on his clipboard. "LeBeau, check. Newkirk, check. Carter, check. Kinchloe, check. Olsen, check." 

He finished, nodded briskly and started toward the door, stopped and turned with a slightly puzzled frown, looking back at the shadowed figure of the man he'd counted off last. {"Something. Perhaps the shape of his head in the shadows. Perhaps that tilt of the chin. Something, something . . ."}.

He squinted in thought, then with a determined shake of his head, turned back and headed out the door, muttering something incomprehensible as he left, though turning at the last minute to cast one very puzzled look back.

In that top bunk, Colin Olsen swallowed and felt the sweat trickle down from his forehead and off the side of his face.

{"One of these days . . ."}

 

It was mid-morning, Hogan now being up and moving around like before, the others back to their usual routine, when the Gestapo came pouring through the gate in three black cars. LeBeau went running to fetch Hogan, who'd been meeting with Kinch in his office, and by the time the officer had gotten outside, Hochstetter had stormed into Klink's office and back out again, a shivering, protesting Klink trailing behind him.

"But I assure you, Major Hochstetter, every last one of my prisoners is right where I left them, I assure you. It would be most careless, after all, for me to misplace one," that last accompanied by a sickly laugh and an even more sickly expression on the Kommandant's face.

"Bah, Klink! I am not so concerned today about who might be missing from your little pleasure hostel, but who might BE here! I have reports of two men being spotted north of here, and I have a very good description of one of them! I intend to check this camp most thoroughly, and if I find that man here, then I assure you heads will roll!"

Soon the men were lined up outside the barracks, and the guards did a count, confirmed each man who was supposed to be there truly was. It was only then that two men stepped out of the background, and went row by row looking at the men. At their signal, the guards motioned various of the prisoners to a separate row, til there were seven all together, Sergeant Kinchloe being among the seven.

"You see, Klink, there were some identifying features on the man who was spotted. We know his approximate height and weight, there was an identifying scar, a special feature that might narrow things down greatly. We will see, Klink, we will see." 

{"One thing about ole 'ochstetter, if I ever thought 'e was scary w'en 'e was in a bad mood, nothing like w'at 'e's like when 'e's in a good one! Don't fancy the look on 'is face one little bit, I don't!"}

One by one the men were faced by the two who had come with the Gestapo, one by one they were motioned away, til only two remained, Sergeant Kinchloe and Private Drake. There was a muttered conversation, then with a motion, Private Drake was released to rejoin his barracks mates, while one of the accusers hurried over to Hochstetter. 

"It is him, Herr Major! We are certain of it!" beaming with self-satisfaction.

Hochstetter looked at him blankly, and then back at Kinch, and then at the other man.

"And you agree, both of you, this is the man you saw?"

"Yes, Herr Major!" came in unison.

Major Hochstetter reached into his pocket and pulled out a document. 

"I have here your report, including your description of the events and of the man you saw so very clearly. Yes, the height and weight are in the proper range, I can see that."

He walked over and looked at Kinch carefully, up and down.

"There is a scar, certainly, though not exactly where you said it was, but still, a scar."

He stepped back a few paces, looked again, tilting his head. "Ah, yes, there is indeed a moustache. I do recognize a moustache when I see one. In fact, I have one myself," brushing one finger across his own upper lip adornment.

"There is only one small difficulty, gentlemen, one perhaps you did not notice." He looked at the men, an expression of false congeniality sitting quite poorly on his face. "Perhaps you can point that out, one of you? No?"

His face changed, turning a bright indignant red. 

"Imbeciles! Yes, I see he has a moustache! Yes, I see the scar. But do you know what I also see, Corporal? I see that he is black! Now, don't you think that little detail would have been included in the description if the man you saw had ALSO been black? Do you not think that might have been something you would have made note of at the time? You said he was in grey clothing; you noticed the color of his clothes but not the color of his skin??? Dummkopfs! You have wasted my time! We will discuss this back at Headquarters!"

Without a word, of apology, of dismissal, of farewell, the Gestapo Major stomped back to his car and got inside, signaling the end of this particular visit.

The men watched, feeling the sweat trickle down their spines, as those cars pulled out. 

 

"What you called it, Kinch, an optical illusion after that lightning flash; it would appear you were not the only one affected, mon ami!" LeBeau offered, just before he sat down heavily on the bench and bent his head forward to rest on his arms. "Mon Dieu, if it had not been for that!!!"

 

Later that afternoon, while Hogan was off flirting with Klink's secretary, Corporal Langenscheidt stopped in, ostensibly to tell that promised story that he'd never managed to make it back and tell the night before. It was a cozy little story, about an enchanted frog and and a princess and a kiss that turned both their worlds upside down. Unlike most of the soldier's stories, which were sometimes complicated in certain ways but ultimately quite understandable if a little unsettling, this one was quite simple all the way through, but with an ending that left them with more unanswered questions than not. In fact, the ending made them wonder if Corporal Langenscheidt might not be coming down with a good case of the flu himself.

Still, it had been a pleasant enough way to spend the time, sipping almost-coffee and listening to his voice, and it was only Carter who pressed him on the real meaning. Well, of course it was! The others weren't that interested, to tell the truth, and Olsen was still having trouble breathing and didn't have any inclination to say even one word, though he'd spent the whole time in his bunk, laying on his side, head propped on his hand, watching the story teller and the others, unable to tear his eyes away.

Andrew protested, "I mean, I don't get it! If the enchanted frog was still a frog, even after he was kissed by the princess, but the princess wasn't a princess anymore but all of a sudden was a traveling soldier, how did the story really end? I mean, you can't just end it with the soldier walking into the sunset talking to the frog perched in his coat pocket! Well, I mean, it's probably what I would do, yeah, but then that's just me, ya know? And why would the soldier bundle up that dress so carefully and put it in his backpack like that? I mean, a soldier wouldn't have any reason to need a fancy dress! I mean, other than . . .", but that glance over at Newkirk was getting a panicked look from more than one of his team mates, them knowing Langenscheidt really didn't need to know about those various impersonations, so he let it drop. "And besides, when they got to the top of the hill, you said it was a princess again all dolled up in that pretty dress, and that frog sitting on her shoulder like that. First we're seeing one thing, then we're seeing another, like it's all an optical illusion or something," that term perhaps jumping to his mind after hearing Kinch and Hogan both use it in their reports.

Carter continued, earnestly. "No, don't get me wrong, I really like your stories, I really do. But this one doesn't have a moral, it doesn't teach a lesson, it doesn't end like any of the fairytales I ever heard! It's way too confusing! It's just not right, Langenscheidt," Carter protested. "Are you sure you're feeling alright, not maybe coming down with the flu?"

The homely man got a slightly shy smile on his face, and shrugged, "but you see, Carter, there are many stories that have not yet been told. Just because you have not heard this one before, it does not make it an invalid story. And perhaps, for that frog and that soldier, or maybe that princess, perhaps that was JUST the right thing to happen at that particular time. And, who knows, perhaps that is not the end of the story, not entirely. We shall see, ya?"

The Corporal had left, and the others had started their inevitable card game when Newkirk blurted out, "ya know, I 'ave to say I think maybe Carter was right. That story, you 'ave to wonder. Ole Langenscheidt just MIGHT be coming down with a case of the flu!"

Colin Olsen gave a rueful shake of his dark head, "well, sounds like he's coming down with a good case of something, anyway!" {"Well, if I'm going crazy, at least I have company!"}


End file.
